The End of Summer
by Aviaries
Summary: Again, Monty laughed and put out his hand. "Montague D'ysquith Navarro. Monty, if you'd please." "Sylvia Llewelyn Davies. I'm so sorry that my sons have come by to bother you. I'm still searching for one. He usually sits here." (Chapter 3 Up)
1. A Walk in the Park

A gust of wind, a brush of cold, Phoebe was happy. "It's the end of summer!" she declared happily to Monty, who was walking behind her down the hall.

"Yes, Phoebe, it is. Do you like the end of summer?"

Phoebe nodded excitedly. "I love summer. I love every time of year. Flowers in spring, beautiful colors in autumn, frost in winter, but the end of summer is gorgeous."

"I thought you would be sad about this time of year, Phoebe. You seem to love summer, I would have thought you wouldn't want it to end."

Phoebe laughed. "I suppose that's possible. But I love everything. It's the time for the leaves to change to the warm colors of the sunset-" The door bell went off with a resounding and long series of bell-like chimes. Actually, they were bells. Phoebe ran off to get it, leaving Monty staring out the window at the few trees whose leaves began to fall.

"Sibella!"

Monty was pushed from his appreciation of the outside to his appreciation for the inside. He came around the corner to find Sibella in a beautiful pink dress, for summer of course. Not as prudish, though she never _was_ prudish in the first place.

"Phoebe," Sibella returned with a warm smile. "Monty!" She ran to hug her lover, who embraced her. The interesting thing about the relationship was that Phoebe was alright with their touches, their affections. It was strange and it wasn't. Phoebe just happened to be uninterested in sex. She didn't like it, she didn't want it. Monty kissing her hand was enough for her, and she loved that. She loved love.

"Sibella, how are you? You're outside, not shopping. What's happened?"

The blonde brushed off her dress, some pollen or dust floating down. "It's the dying light of summer, Monty. It's a lovely time of year. We should all go out."

"That's it?" Phoebe asked. "Sounds lovely."

Monty nodded. "Where would we go, though?"

"The gardens!" Phoebe was insistent on this fact, and neither Monty nor Sibella could deny her sweet, innocent smile. She was the purest of them.

"I hope you're happy," Sibella muttered as Phoebe walked around in her skirt and blouse, enjoying the warm summer air.

The brunette simply laughed. "I am happy. This is a beautiful place. Kensington Gardens are lovely."

"I have to agree," Monty said, joining her over by the flowers. "Come join us, Sibella!"

Sibella had no desire to join them. She wanted to sit on the bench and not be disturbed. It wasn't that she didn't like the outdoors, but she would rather have dragged them both shopping with her, or into the city for a walk. The park was not her favorite. Maybe even go for a ride in a motorcar? She didn't like sitting in the park.

"Excuse me. We need this bench."

Sibella turned her head to see a young boy with a stick in his hand. He looked about 11-years-old or so. "Excuse me, but I'm sitting here," she said, trying to be kind. It really just sounded false and syrupy.

The boy frowned. "This is my prison cell. I need it."

"You don't need it."

"Yes, I do."

Sibella wrinkled her nose. "I shall sit here, and you shall choose another bench."

The boy looked sorely disappointed when the blonde would not move. "Are you sure I can't have this one. This is the one George always uses."

"Who's George."

An older boy, about 14, walked up to them with a smile. "I'm George. What's Jack been doing now? Jack, are you causing trouble?"

"I am not."

Before she could state her dilemma to the older of the boys, yet another came along. "You guys left me behind," he complained.

It seemed Sibella would never be allowed to vent, for now Phoebe and Monty were by her side. "Oh, you've made friends. Who are these young men, Sibella," Monty asked.

"I'm George."

"Jack."

"Michael."

"Boys!"

The three boys turned to see an older woman, late 30s, early 40s perhaps, running towards them. "You boys should _not_ run off like that," she chided to them. "You scare me when you disappear!"

Monty laughed. It sounded like something he might have done as a child.

"Oh, I do hope they haven't bothered you any," she said, winded. She was clutching her chest like it was hard to breathe. She caught Phoebe looking at her strangely, and she quickly said, "chest cold."

Again, Monty laughed and put out his hand. "Montague D'ysquith Navarro. Monty, if you'd please."

"Sylvia Llewelyn Davies. I'm so sorry that my sons have come by to bother you. I'm still searching for one. He usually sits here."

Phoebe beamed. "I'm Phoebe Navarro. I'm not his sister, I'm his wife." That distinction apparently had to be made as many people who didn't know of the D'ysquiths would assume they were siblings.

"A pleasure." Sylvia's honey voice was sweet and warm and smooth. It was very English, but not posh. It was laced with a creamy simplicity. "I think I've heard of you. It's so unfortunate what's happened to your family, Missus Navarro. A terrible tragedy indeed."

Monty looked down guiltily at his feet. As he did, he saw the shadow of a boy coming up behind him. Turning, he saw a young boy scowling at them. "Can I help you?" He asked.

"Peter," the woman said with a relief and sightly apologetic sigh. "There you are. I thought I told you not to wander."

"I wasn't wandering. You all decided to move the picnic away." He sounded so annoyed and unpleasant. It didn't make Monty feel good at all.

"Well, I suppose we should be going, then." Sylvia already had a picnic basket and blanket over her arm. "It was nice meeting you three. Perhaps we shall meet again?"

"Tomorrow?" Phoebe asked, enthusiastic.

Michael jumped up and down. "Tomorrow! Oh, please mother!"

Sylvia laughed her musical laugh. "Alright, alright. Tomorrow. Until then, Mr and Mrs Navarro. Oh, I never caught your name, Missus..."

"Holland. Sibella Hallward Holland."

"Well, it was nice to meet you as well, Mrs Holland."

"Bye!" The boys waved as they ran off, Peter with a book trailing them, and their mother herding them away.

Phoebe looked absolutely delighted. The brown hairs on her head seemed to reflect light like a halo. "Children. I love children."

There was a pause and Sibella smiled after the one lagging behind. "I wonder what his story is."

The light from Phoebe seemed to fade and she turned to Sibella with a sad sort of smile. "His father's just passed."

Sibella's head snapped up. "What?"

"His father. Not just, but recently. Arthur Llewelyn Davies, barrister. He was Sylvia's everything. The glue in the family."

The new realization hit Sibella hard. Loss was such a horrid thing. "Tomorrow, then? And we'll bring them something to eat?"

Monty nodded at Sibella's sudden empathy. "Tomorrow."


	2. The Davies' Backyard

"Come on, Michael!"

Jack laughed as he chased after his brother, the younger clutching the cricket bat as he sprinted to his mother.

"Save me, save me!" He cried, laughing as he did, then hiding behind his mother's skirts.

Sylvia thought this was the cutest thing. Sibella seemed to think so too. She was sitting with George on a bench eating some cake. (Though not a lot. She couldn't. She needed to stay trim.)

There was a cool breeze which brought their attention back to the garden. The group was in the Davies' backyard, playing a game of chase.

"Can we play pirates?" Michael asked of his mother and Monty, who was standing with them.

With a strange smile, Monty leaned down and picked Michael up and held him up to his chest. "I'm the most dastardly pirate ever! And I've captured this traitor as my hostage!" He laughed gleefully and took over their porch as his ship.

"Help! Help!" Michael said in a mix of mock crying for help and a fit of giggling.

"We must save him!" Jack yelled to his brothers.

Phoebe picked up a stick with a few leaves on the other end. "Release the boy!" she shouted, causing Sibella to chuckle slightly.

Peter was not amused. (He was reading and didn't want to play.)

"It's all nonsense," he muttered quietly and returned to his book.

Too bad Sibella overheard. "Peter?" she called his name quietly. "Are you alright."

"Fine." (He wasn't fine. He was actually the opposite of fine.)

Everyone could sense the tension Peter was giving off. His mother returned to his side on the other bench and wrapped her arms around him.

Phoebe dropped the stick and Monty put Michael down quietly. He had stopped struggling.

Even if Sibella, Monty, and Phoebe weren't confused about the situation, they still didn't know what to do. Phoebe had already told Sibella and Monty about Arthur Llewelyn Davies. He died of sarcoma in his cheek. Both Monty and Phoebe knew what it was like to lose a parent, and they tried to avoid the topics of death and parents (unless it was Sylvia) when in the Davies' presence.

"You know, Peter," Monty began, cheerful in his tone, "we still have cake left."

He didn't seem interested.

"Do you like that book?"

Peter looked up. "It's a play."

"A play?"

"Yes."

Sylvia smiled. I've taken these fine boys to plays a few times in the area. Peter simply had to know more.

"I see." Monty was beaming. Plays. He loved plays.

"Do you want to see a play?"

The young boy didn't know what to say. "Yes?"

"Yes! Good. Phoebe, let's go see a play!"

The brunette clapped her hands excitedly. "A play! Monty that's fantastic!"

"We'll set something up soon," Monty promised, turning back. "How about tomorrow we can relax in Kensington Gardens and you can tell me all about that play, yes Peter?"

Peter nodded slowly. "Yes, Mr Navarro."

"Monty." He said.

"Monty." He said back.


	3. The Park Again

A/N: It has been awhile! So sorry! Here's chapter 3!

* * *

"Who's this?"

Monty was pointing at a shorter man with dark hair and facial hair. He was sitting on the very bench the Sibella had been sitting on just the other day. Michael and Jack were talking to him about pirates, Monty could understand.

"Playwright J.M. Barrie," he supplied with what Monty could now tell was a very heavy Scottish accent. It almost made him want to laugh a bit.

"And then I got captured by the fierce Pirate Captain Monty!" Michael was detailing another fun day they had had in the park. It was either yesterday or the day before, Monty couldn't remember.

"J.M. Barrie!" Phoebe, who was wearing a handmade pirate hat, was now beside the playwright with a sense of curiosity and admiration. "I've seen quite a few of your plays, sir! They're absolutely wonderful. My late Aunt Salome loved the theatre!"

"Well it is nice to meet a fan. Thanks so much for your kind words."

"I must ask you, Mr. Barrie, what are your plans for your next show? Your last one closed so suddenly."

James was a little hurt at the reminder. His wife, Mary, was quite upset and felt the need for him to write something quite the same as what he'd always done. A formulaic success.

"Just do what you've always done, James. It's like this furniture, the same pieces, and you move them around. Just like that."

James wasn't too thrilled by the idea.

"I have a few ideas in the works, not to worry," he said with a slight smile.

Monty could tell already he didn't have anything. He was just saying that for Phoebe, who lit up at the very mention of more plays to see. She loved them so much. And come to think of it, so did Peter, after what he said.

"Peter, you can not run off like that."

It wasn't Sylvia talking. It was Sibella. She was herding Peter and George towards Monty, James, Phoebe, and the remaining boys. Sylvia was walking slightly behind them, looking quite tired.

"Are you alright?"

Phoebe was so concerned about the older woman. She always looked so strong, what could ever be the matter?

"Yes, quite fine. I'm just a little... sick. A cold. Chest cold. Hard to breathe sometimes. But don't worry, I'll recover soon enough."

Monty could also tell that this was a show. He was good at that. Picking out the things people said and reading in-between the lines.

"I'm terribly sorry but I never asked your names," James said with a friendly smile.

"I'm Monty Navarro," Montry introduced.

"Phoebe D'ysquith Navarro. His wife."

"Sibella Hallward Holland." She said Holland with a certain amount of disdain.

"A pleasure." James smiled and offered Monty his hand. They shook. "And how do you know these fine young lads?"

"We met right here in the park as a matter of fact," Monty said. "They were trying to take Sibella's bench."

"It's our bench!" Jack piped up.

"Jack!" Sylvia scolded.

"Jocelyn, he's only joking," James said with a smile.

Monty turned. "Jocelyn?"

"It's my nickname for her!" Barrie seemed awfully pleased with himself. It was like he had found the most perfect name in the world.

"It's my middle name," Sylvia added.

Sylvia looked slightly embarrassed. Monty looked at her for what felt like the longest moment, curious and confused. Phoebe eventually nudged him.

"Did you hear what he said?"

"What?"

James laughed. "I was asking if you've had the pleasure of playing in the Davies' backyard."

"Yes, we have."

"Jocelyn, should we all pay you a visit in the near future? What do you think. It would be quite fun."

There was hesitation, and Monty really wanted to reassure Sylvia that he was alright not coming, but the boys immediately answered. Almost unamimously, they all cheered for a joint playdate. And Monty knew that Sylvia felt trapped.

"Please oh please oh please," Michael cried out, wanting to play with his favorite people.

"Oh, alright," Sylvia conceded with a pleasant smile. She was, admittedly, a fair actress. Not as good as Mary Ansell, though. Though Mary Ansell hadn't been around the stage in some time. A long time.

George handed James a stick.

"Your sword, sir," he offered.

"Ah, yes. I shall bring it when we conquer distant lands and fair against the seven seas!"

Peter seemed less than impressed. In fact, he looked like he resented James.

"Now, boys, it's getting late. Why don't we head home," Sylvia suggested.

Jack looked the most upset, but she took his hand and began to lead them away.

"Sylvia, a word?"

It was Monty. He was waving at her slightly, and she blushed. Not because she was in any way attracted to him, but because she seemed so flustered by the entire situation and she didn't know how to get out.

"Can it wait?"

"Sure."


End file.
